


Dark Symmetry

by destieljunkie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destieljunkie/pseuds/destieljunkie
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have been smitten with each other since they met in the Garden of Eden but both are too scared to make a move in the slowest burn romance in history. After six thousand years in the making Crowley's sexual frustration is at critical. So when an angel and a demon join forces to stay the apocalypse, he decides to go all out to win his angel's heart. Aziraphale has been waiting for that moment for centuries but he thinks demons can't love and comes up with a little scheme of his own. Maybe they're a lot more alike than they thought.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	1. Eden

**Eden**

Aziraphale quietly admires the garden of Eden with both hands clasped together in front of him. An oasis of natural beauty that has suddenly burst into existence. Complete with waterfalls. He thought that was a nice touch. But all the angel can see beyond that perfect sanctuary is golden sand stretching out for countless miles in every direction. He can't help thinking there was something he had to do and manages to give himself a stress headache from thinking too hard.

He suddenly remembers his mission and reappears in a shimmer of light at the base of the wall where one of the stones has been prised free. He couldn’t recall exactly how long it had been lying there. Anything could get in - and definitely had. Aziraphale carefully places it back in the hole, making sure he has a decent view when he returns to his spot on the ramparts. Delicate white blossoms cover the lush meadow.

It really is… well, heavenly.

The angel stirs when a dark shape rustles silently amongst the leaves. He's technically supposed to be on apple tree duty and curses himself for getting distracted. Aziraphale can’t see it yet, but a long black snake is now slithering inside. Forked tongue flicking at the air when a strangely familiar scent drifts down from above. Enticing the serpent to scale the wall just to try and reach such delicious temptation. The desire to taste it is almost impossible to resist. The slide of smooth scales against the grass is the only sound that echoes across the barren landscape save the distant hum of tiny wings. New creations spawning to life with a single divine thought.

Aziraphale sighs and resigns himself to centuries of watchful silence stretching out before him. Celestial gardens are nice enough if you like that sort of thing, but he has no idea how he is actually supposed to fill eternity. But everything around him is part of the Great Plan and he has no right to question his purpose.

Not even the hosts of Heaven really know what that plan entails but Aziraphale presumes knowledge like that is above his pay grade. If he had ever been good at anything, it was taking orders. Always the dutiful soldier who does what he's told with the same mindless obedience hard-wired into every angel ever created.

Aziraphale is fidgeting with a sleeve and wondering how many more times he can realistically count the line of bricks in the far wall before boredom really sets in when a sleek serpent slithers up to the angel like it's circling fresh prey. It slinks closer and Aziraphale has to do a double take just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating. It's still there. Whatever it is. Aziraphale hates having to instigate socially awkward conversations but he can’t really pretend not to notice. The thing that draws his attention most are the golden eyes. The angel is fascinated by the way they glint in the light. Hypnotic in the way only a snake can hold you. Which actually makes sense under the circumstances.

The snake doesn’t seem to have much to offer except heavy silence. Angels don’t trust demons. Naturally. The black wings are a bit of a giveaway but this one hasn’t run away screaming. Maybe even smiled a bit so that was - progress. The mesmerizing eyes are more than enough to get Aziraphale’s feathers ruffled, but when the demon finally speaks, his voice washes over the angel’s senses like a river of fire.

“Well, that was a disaster.”

Aziraphale hesitates while he scrambles to process both the situation and the sudden pounding in his chest. He knows his kind aren't even supposed to make eye contact with the other side but this one seems alright. He must have been an angel once. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him for a bit.

“Sorry?”

Crawley sends a silent prayer downstairs. He hasn’t laid eyes on a proper angel since before The Fall and for some inexplicable reason, he wants this one to like him. Crawley finds himself helplessly drawn to the soft white curls. So much honest innocence in those blue eyes.

“Well. I only came up here to make some trouble but tempting someone to eat an apple?” Crawley makes a face. “Not exactly evil incarnate. Honestly, the Almighty didn’t give me much to work with, so I had to improvise. I’ve been wondering if I made a mistake.”

“So have I.” Aziraphale admits quietly. Hoping he hadn’t done the wrong thing by accident and kick-started natural selection.

Crawley opens his mouth to say something profound when he suddenly realises the angel is missing something.

“So, what’s a principality doing down here, anyway? Hang on - ” Crawley straightens up with a start like he’s been struck by a bolt of enlightenment. “Aren’t you that angel who was running about with a flaming sword?” He obviously hadn’t got it now and that made Crawley wonder what God was really planning.

Aziraphale blushed and snapped his head towards the demon.

“Sorry?” He stammers again. Visibly distracted by so many questions and pretty sure he isn’t supposed to fraternize with demons. Especially ones that are dripping with temptation. “Maybe.”

Crawley doesn’t ask what happened to it. The angel probably lost it or gave it away. Most of them are mindless drones, no matter how cute they are. Aziraphale tries to brush it off, but demons know celestial flame when they see it and Crawley won’t let himself be sidelined quite so easily. Even at the risk of having every auburn ringlet singed right off his head.

Crawley knows he's staring and hopes it isn’t too obvious. It’s always kind of hard to gauge exactly what you’re looking at when your pupil is a thin black slit, so the demon lets his gaze linger a little longer than he means to. Dragging it down Aziraphale’s body and trying really hard not to imagine what that looks like under the shapeless white shift. He just gapes stupidly at the angel while his smitten brain does all the thinking for him. Soft curves. Thighs he could really grab hold of…

“Are you alright - ?” Aziraphale asks slowly. The snake clearly hasn’t been listening to a single word. His eyebrows tilt up with an unspoken question and it finally clicks. He's waiting for the hell spawn to introduce itself.

“Crawley.”

“Crawley.” Aziraphale echoes, pausing for a moment to savour what that word feels like on his tongue. It stays there for a second before slipping effortlessly down his throat like a bite of forbidden fruit. He completely misses the irony. Aziraphale swallows hard and forces himself to look away. Suddenly fascinated by some imaginary point of interest in the garden. 

“Probably part of the plan to let me in.”

Aziraphale makes a little noise in the back of his throat. Not convinced that is entirely true, but best not to speculate. Heaven forbid that an angel might develop independent thought.

Crawley has been locked in his own private hell since he started hanging out with the wrong people and caved to peer pressure. He never meant to fall from grace, and definitely not so far. It didn’t seem that long since he was an angel himself and it hurts more because he still remembers what it was like to be one. And now this bloody seraph has snaked his way inside a damaged soul, suffering a hundred millennia in the pit would seem like nothing compared to the torment of spending another single second of not being able to rub his scales against all that creamy skin.

"You definitely don't look alright." Aziraphale offers sympathetically. 

“Mˈfine.” Crawley pushes the sinful images aside. The pang of angel pining is nothing compared to spending centuries wading around in a pool of boiling sulphur, so he lets that one slide. Soon back to staring at Aziraphale again through a lopsided smile. This angel is probably just like all the others, but Crawley can’t shake the feeling there's something different about him. He's the only one who ever cared enough to ask his opinion or show him any scrap of kindness. When you’ve spent so long in the basement, a demon gets used to amateur sarcasm and the searing heat of hellfire. So polite conversation is rather refreshing. May as well go with it. “Any idea why they picked you to watch the garden?”

“No.” Aziraphale answers honestly. “I’m really not that interesting.”

Crawley completely disagrees, but it’s nice to know he’s not the only celestial being to suffer from crippling insecurity.

“Bullshit. I can practically see your halo, angel. Looks pretty shiny from where I’m standing.”

Aziraphale has no idea how to take a compliment. If it even is one. He thought about smiling back but changed his mind before his face caught up. Now he looks like he’s in pain more than anything else.

Crawley’s pitiful attempt to impress the angel is cut short when something wet splashes the tip of his nose.

There isn’t a word for it yet, but raindrops drip down from a clear sky and Aziraphale instinctively lifts a wing to shelter him.

After the rain subsides, they're both drenched in golden sunshine again and Crawley is sitting on the edge of the wall with his bare feet dangling over the edge. Aziraphale can almost sense the demon looking him up and down like he's psyching himself up to ask something.

“Can I ..er.”

“What?” The angel eyes him suspiciously. He might be strangely comfortable in such treacherous company, but Aziraphale would have to smite him out of principle alone if he pushes his luck. “Can you what?”

“Lay my head on your wing?” Aziraphale just stares back like he must have misheard, and Crawley had forgotten angels could be such hard work.

“Why?” Aziraphale squints at him from the corner of one eye. “You have your own wing. Two, in fact.”

“Well, yeah.” Crawley drawls. Not expecting so much resistance. His manipulation skills must be a bit rusty. “But yours is softer.” That makes Aziraphale’s insides feel funny and he opens one wing out behind him with a graceful swish. Crawley gives a satisfied hum and settles by the angel’s side. Red hair spread across the white feathers like blood on snow. Aziraphale sneaks a secret glance when he thinks the demon isn’t looking. The contrast is beautiful and dangerous all at the same time. Not sure which of those terrifies him more.

Deep yellow eyes are blinking up at him with sin and temptation, but all the angel sees are pools of burnished gold that seem to be looking right inside him. The black slit is suddenly blown wide with something Aziraphale can't identify. Drawing him in like a smouldering flame. Aziraphale has never felt anything like desire before and has no idea why a strange fluttering in his chest manages to take his breath away. And like every other time something pokes at his sexuality, Aziraphale does what he always does. He ignores it.

Amber eyes are gazing up at him again and the air is heavy with something the angel has never experienced before. Crawley pipes up just to break the silence.

“Hey. You think someone might have moved that stone on purpose?” Crawley practically leaks dark mystery that's so unfamiliar and still so warm. Aziraphale shrugs and edges closer in favour of answering. Burying his face in the tip of a black wing.

\- and all along someone has been watching from the heavens. It sounds like the cue for a bad joke, but an angel and a demon are cuddled up together surrounded by the paradise of Eden. Life was always destined to begin in that garden, and not that either of them knew it yet, but God had a little plan of her own.

She had made them for each other.


	2. Divine Intervention

**Divine Intervention**

God only knows how many hours (maybe even days) they sit there together on top of the garden wall. Time doesn’t seem to pass like it normally does and Crawley curses himself for wishing they could stay like that forever. Aziraphale only meant to rest for a bit but now he’s fast asleep and practically draped over Crawley’s hip. The demon hardly dares move in spite of the fact he can’t feel his legs anymore.

Aziraphale’s eyes are closed, and he turns to pillow his head on both hands where they’re pressed together under his cheek like praying is his default. Crawley props himself up with both arms stretched out behind him and happily drowns on drinking in the way the angel looks when he’s asleep. He slithers down a bit and manages to shift his body enough to let Aziraphale slide into his lap.

Some subconscious need for comfort makes him snuggle into the black robe and every serpentine nerve misfires. His body goes rigid in - not fear. Crawley decides. Definitely not that, but it’s something. He craves the closeness and has no idea how to deal with it. It doesn’t take Crawley long to convince himself it’s just the loneliness of empty decades catching up with him. The angel is a poignant reminder of everything he once was. Everything he can never be again and the desire to touch is all consuming. Crawley forces himself to pull away before he damns himself twice.

How anything for a hundred miles in every direction can’t hear the thudding of his heart is a miracle in itself. It echoes in the silent garden and still the angel doesn’t move. Crawley bites at his lip until two little dents pierce the skin. Screwing his eyes shut to focus on something other than a handful of cuddly angel. He slowly peeks one open and just can’t help himself from reaching out to run a trembling finger down the shaft of one white feather where Aziraphale’s wing joins his shoulder. Soon as the tip rubs along it, there’s a stab of something unexpected. Demons don’t do guilt, but Crawley never really embraced his diabolical side. Working hard over the years to perfect that illusion. Hide the fact he’s actually quite nice under all the black feathers and burning eyes. Aimlessly wondering if the angel would ever see it. Maybe he already has. Crawley’s hopeful thoughts are quickly scattered when he feels a warm weight push against his side and he just can’t stop touching. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem but now it almost feels like a violation. He knows he should let go but the fluffy down is so soft and flawless, Crawley is reluctant to pull away at all. He takes that one last chance at physical contact and pinches the bend at the top a little too hard. Drawing in a gasp of air when a sudden shiver runs all the way along the edge of Aziraphale’s wings until they tremble with a ripple of stimulation. Shaking a couple of feathers free in its wake.

It seems to stir the angel awake and his face is flushed when he finally sits up and stretches out both arms. Blue eyes slowly blink open.

“Sorry.” Aziraphale yawns. “Must be all that sunshine.” He slowly twists to pop out a crick in his neck and the modest covering drops over one shoulder. Silky bare skin is suddenly exposed, and Crawley can sense both tips of his tongue twitch. “I feel much better now.” The demon scrambles to think of something to say that would explain why he’s still staring.

“Angels don’t need to sleep.”

“I know.” Aziraphale shrugs. “They don’t need to eat either, but I’ve grown rather fond of both.”

Crawley watches him closely. Amber glow fixed on the angel’s mouth and imagining what it tastes like. Second nature when you’re a serpent.

Crawley doesn’t really mean to share what he’s thinking but it comes out anyway. He’s never met anyone like Aziraphale before and the strange attraction to such untouched perfection is doing all sorts of things to his wicked instincts. He studies every line and curve of the angel’s face like he wants to commit it all to memory. Just in case.

“You’re not like the others, are you?” Crawley says softly. It’s not really a question and Aziraphale is grateful for it because he doesn’t have an answer. Obviously, he can’t see it from the demonic perspective, but why someone like Crawley would even want to talk to him at all is still a mystery. He’s devilishly attractive, confident and drips virility. Crawley doesn’t see it and Aziraphale replies with as much conviction in his own worth as the snake. What he really wants to say is lodged painfully behind the lump in his throat when he manages to force out a faint reply.

“Neither are you.”

For the first time since he laid eyes on the angel, the yellow gaze falters and Aziraphale could swear his cheeks are tinted pink. Suddenly transfixed by the slow slide of a pronged tongue when the tips of it slide between Crawley’s lips. They’re wet and shiny in the sunlight.

“What did you mean about all this being part of the plan?” Aziraphale whispers, desperate for a distraction. “If someone did move that stone on purpose, it was on my watch.” Aziraphale can feel the panic rise. “Oh. The paperwork I’ll have to fill in if I did something I wasn’t supposed to.”  


"Well, it wasn’t me.” Crawley actually has the balls to look offended. “A demon can get in a lot of trouble for doing the right thing, you know. Wouldn’t want to risk it.” Not sure when he started caring about what the legions of Hell think about him.

“Well I didn’t either, so one of us is lying.” Aziraphale defensively crosses both arms across his chest. Dishonesty comes with Crawley’s job description and if it’s a process of elimination between an angel and a demon - well. Even a snake can do the math on that one.

They stare at each other without blinking and neither of them can help it. There might have been a little bit of divine intervention at work again. She usually gets a cupid to do it, but sometimes God likes the personal touch and these two are very special to her.

“I already told you, angel. Wasn’t me.”

“Are you implying that I would - ” Aziraphale stammers. The mere suggestion plunging him into a meltdown. “ - would tell a fib?”

“Trust me, it’s not so hard once you get used to it.” Crawley smiles again, which does nothing to get Aziraphale’s heart rate down. “You just need some practice. I could give you a few pointers.”

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale says adamantly. There’s so much passion there, Crawley is completely infatuated.

“What do they call you, angel?”

“How frightfully rude of me.” Aziraphale sits up a little straighter when he realises he never introduced himself. “Aziraphale. Principality of the Eastern Gate.”

“I like it, Zira. Suits you.”

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale slides the demon a coy smile and doesn’t correct him. “Sorry. I’ve just been so worried about all this. I had one job, and I haven’t done it very well.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Crawley soothes him, with more compassion than any demon should possess. “You’re an angel. I imagine you’ll be forgiven.” That one hurts more than it should. Crawley won’t be. Not ever.

“So why are you still here if you only came up for a quick temptation? Shouldn’t you be heading back?” Not that Aziraphale wants him to leave, but he knows how the system works.

“Don’t really want to, honestly.” Crawley admits. “Not exactly a place I would choose to spend eternity.”

“It’s Hell.” Aziraphale says blankly. “You’re not supposed to like it.”

“Obviously. But I got screwed over. 'Specially when I somehow ended up on Team Lucifer.” Crawley stops and knows he’s already said too much. Demons make a career out of sensing doubt and if that gets picked up on he’ll shine like a beacon through the darkness. He quickly changes the subject. “Suppose this place is alright. More imaginative than most things Heaven can conjure up.”

“It’s actually quite lovely.” Aziraphale agrees. “You can say what you like about God, but there’s so much beauty in all her creations.” 

Crawley stares at him for the longest minute of his existence. 

“Yeah. I noticed.” It takes the angel a second to realise Crawley means him.

“Really?” Aziraphale breathes out. He has nothing much to offer except blind obedience and Crawley is probably just being polite. Angels don’t think demons are capable of an emotion like that, but like he said - this one is different.

Maybe they could stay there together but forever is a long time and it only gets him to wondering what they can do to fill eternity. Crawley already has a few ideas but he’s not sure the angel is ready to hear them.

Aziraphale distracts himself with something less dangerous and looks around the garden. Apart from a few primordial creations and a now fruitless tree there isn’t really much for either side to work with.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” Crawley shifts under the angel’s body.

“Oh. Well.” Aziraphale frowns. “I expect I’ll hear from - you know.” He points a finger towards the sky as both eyes slide upwards. “Sooner or later.” The prospect of waiting out centuries of boring vigilance makes him feel nauseous. “I have to hold out for an order, however long it takes. I’ve got used to being alone.”

“You don’t have to be.” Crawley says quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” Crawley is caught in the searching eyes that demand something a bit more articulate than the unintelligible squeak he manages to squeeze out. “Hell doesn’t have much pencilled in 'til it kicks into Anno Domini. I could stay here for a bit. You know.” He suddenly feels insecure again. “If you like.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s smile fades, despite how much he wants the demon to stay. “I don’t think Gabriel would be very happy about that.”

His charge to watch the apple tree is now potentially redundant but Aziraphale is a stickler for bureaucracy and he can’t do anything else until the Almighty tells him different.

“You always do what you’re told?” Crawley asks, and Aziraphale thinks he almost sounds disappointed.

“Of course.” Aziraphale gasps. “Don’t you?”

“Angel.” Crawley lifts an eyebrow. “Head office doesn’t really care what I do. Honestly, I don’t think anyone would notice if I stayed up here 'til Armageddon.” The demon is so taken by Aziraphale, everything else just melts away. Crawley knows he’s kidding himself that no one is keeping tabs on him. Hastur is suspicious as they come and expects Crawley to report in soon on how much chaos he’s managed to create. Not sure how he’s going to explain doing nothing but hanging out with an angel. Crawley can’t even think about what they’ll do to him if he’s busted and shivers despite the heat.

But angels can sense unhappiness. Goes with the territory.

“Sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah. 'Course.” Crawley lies. “Just thinking about having to go back down there. Check in.” The poor demon looks so deflated, Aziraphale is finally starting to understand.

“You really don’t like it, do you?”

Probably best not to admit too much out loud. Crawley knows they love him in Hell, but reputation aside, he would get doused in holy water if anyone even suspected a hint of betrayal.

“Nope. But I am evil, by definition.” Crawley sighs, and somehow he can’t stop it all from spilling out. “No matter how much I want to be good.”  


Aziraphale feels his stomach twist in sympathy. Crawley is destined to infernal damnation and there isn’t a single thing he can do about it. Ever.

“You are good. I can sense it.” Aziraphale lifts one hand and gently rests it over the space where the demon’s heart should be. “Right here.”


End file.
